Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas
by SuperDuperHulaHooper
Summary: Hermione ponders the meaning of Christmas without Ron. Set midHBP. My first ficlet in a long time...don't judge too harshly. Merry Christmas everyone!


Hey everyone! I know I've kinda disappeared for the past two years...but I've been very, very busy and for the most part, I've lost my passion for fanfiction. Not that I'm not trying...as you can see from the fact that I've posted this at all. Don't take this ficlet as an announcement of my return to writing, I just had some time today and I thought I'd grace you all with a little fic for Christmas. Keep in mind that it's been 2 years since I've really written anything, so my "voice" is rusty, and I myself don't think that this is very well-written...but I hope you enjoy it anyway. It's set in HBP.

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (or this song). If I did, I most certainly would not have named Harry and Ginny's child Albus Severus.

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_Have yourself a merry little Christmas_

_Let your heart be light_

_From now on, our troubles will be out of sight…_

_Here we are, as in olden days_

_Happy golden days of yore_

_Faithful friends who are dear to us gather near to us once more…

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"Are you alright, poppet?"

The sound of Mr. Granger's voice startled Hermione into an automatic response. "I'm fine," was her inadequate response. When he continued to look skeptical, she gave a sigh and added, "I'm just watching the fire."

He smiled a bit sadly at her. She was troubled, and this did not go over Mr. Granger's head. Although she spent the better part of the year, including much of the summer, with her friends in the wizarding world, although she was a hormonal, complicated, stubborn teenage girl, he would have to be a simpleton not to notice the bags under her eyes and the tenseness in her hands. There was a boy.

Mr. Granger also knew that trying to comfort Hermione about this boy, whoever he was, would only make things worse. So instead, he jokingly told her, "Well, go to bed soon. Father Christmas won't come if he knows you're still awake."

This made Hermione smile at him and roll her eyes. "Good night, Dad," was all she said, and, satisfied that his footsteps had faded down the hall, she turned her attention back to the fire.

There was something a bit different about this Christmas, Hermione noted. She had followed all of the family traditions. She had gotten tangled up in Harry's misadventures before the break had begun, which was becoming a tradition in and of itself. No, she knew exactly what was different. She and Ron had had their rows before this, arguments for which there had been little hope for a recovery. They had made it through each one of these fights, stronger and happier, but never once had a solution been impossible. This was a different row; there was a new bitterness and anger in the air between them.

There was a reason for that. Never before their sixth year had their hearts been so fully invested in the fight itself, or in each other. This went beyond a battle of wills. This was betrayal of the very worst kind, and both Ron and Hermione were without ideas about how to resolve it.

Hermione shivered a bit and pulled her blanket tighter around her, still staring into the depths of the fire. She did not want to think about Ron. She did not want to think about how difficult it had been for her to leave Hogwarts without wishing him happy holidays as she always did. And Hermione most certainly did _not_ want to think about the three Chudley Cannons tickets and the Christmas card they were paperclipped to, lying in an unsealed envelope in her night table.

It had been nearly 3 months ago that she had bought them, while she and Ron were still friends. They were fairly inexpensive, as the Cannons had begun the season ranked lowest in their league, but Hermione had thought it best to purchase them early. The match was scheduled for the last day of the winter holiday, a day she had long ago made both Harry and Ron promise to save for her, and although Hermione willed herself not to think about this painful turn of events as she gazed at the flames, she could not help it; it hurt too much.

_Snap out of it,_ she commanded herself harshly. _Stop wallowing._ These were the very feelings Hermione planned to eradicate during the holiday, and it was disheartening to know that as of yet, her efforts had been wasted. She grimaced at the fireplace, where three stockings hung in front of the merrily dancing flames.

How silly that she had once thought, not too long ago, about having Ron beside her underneath the blanket, his stocking hanging beside hers, in an apartment all their own?

This thought rolled over Hermione like a tidal wave. She gasped at the pain that tore through her chest, buried her face in her knees and shook her head. _Don't think about it. Let it go._

It was harder than it seemed.

She was still wallowing, and she knew it, and no amount of denial would change that. This was why Hermione was pleased, a moment later, to hear a light tapping on the window that interrupted her wallowing. It was Hedwig. It only took about a second to stumble to her feet and, with her blanket still wrapped around her shoulders, open the window to let Hedwig out of the cold.

This was a nice distraction. Hedwig had come bearing Harry's Christmas gift to her, along with a note. Hermione petted Hedwig's head affectionately as she pulled the note out of its envelope, and examined Harry's messy scrawl.

_Hermione,_ it said, _I hope you like my gift. Though to be honest, if you don't, just pretend you do, because it cost me a fortune._ This made Hermione smile. Harry was such a boy. _Anyway I'll send you a longer letter about you-know-what when I've got some time…I've been peeling sprouts like a __house elf__ madman. _Hermione thought she knew what the scribbled out word was. She ignored it and moved on. _Anyway, I hope you have a great holiday, and I'll see you in January. From, Harry._ P.S. Here's a joke. Why is Father Christmas so jolly all the time? Because he knows where the naughty girls live. Happy Christmas.

Hermione laughed in spite of herself. The joke was funny in a lewd, boyish way, and Harry's cross-outs proved even funnier. He knew her well.

She placed the badly wrapped parcel under the tree near the fireplace, and dashed upstairs to grab her gift and note to Harry, as well as a bit of bread she had saved for Hedwig.

They were in her night stand. Without hesitation, without even remembering that Hedwig would be returning the gifts to the Burrow, and that Harry was spending his Christmas with Ron, Hermione reached in and pulled Harry's gift out of the drawer. Seeing the red envelope that contained Ron's gift made her heart shudder. She stopped her hand from closing the drawer all the way, and took the envelope gingerly as though it might bite her.

The tickets. The card. The card was, in all actuality, much more important than the tickets. It was the card that carried Hermione's signature, that expressed her sentiments, not the tickets.

She stood staring at the envelope for a long, anguished moment. Maybe she should send it? Maybe the third ticket could be for Ginny instead of her? But she couldn't. Harry would know who the third ticket was meant for, and that made the thought of sending them along to Ron anyway unbearable.

This thought ended the illusion for her. There was nothing more she could do. She and Ron were over. Really and truly, they were over. When they returned to Hogwarts in January, they would continue to ignore each other, and Harry, despite his efforts, would not be able to reunite them. This was it; this was the end.

It hurt a lot more than she had ever thought it would, because she never thought it would happen at all. The hole in her chest tore open again, and this time, there was no Hedwig to distract her from the pain. She clutched at her heart as if hoping this would mend it, and was crushed to realize that it was a bit beyond repair.

With a tearful gasp, she shut the drawer closed, turned on her heel, and raced back to Hedwig with Harry's gift in hand. Hedwig stuck out her leg obediently as Hermione tied the parcel to it, but didn't put down her leg when Hermione was done. Hedwig looked at Hermione expectantly, her sharp yellow eyes boring into Hermione's tear-filled ones as if to ask why she would not be bringing more packages back to the Burrow.

The pain in Hermione's chest intensified. "That's all," she choked out, barely able to form the words. "Now get back to Harry, will you?" Her shaking hands opened the window again, and Hedwig stalled only for a tense moment before she took flight again, disappearing quickly into the flurry of snow.

Hermione watched Hedwig's departure with swimming eyes. It was all she could do to not break into hysterics. When Hedwig was no longer visible, Hermione gathered her blanket and left the fire, which had now dwindled to pile of glowing ashes, to burn itslef out and went back upstairs. She closed the light, slipped into bed, and with a last painful look at her night table, she cried herself to sleep. It was a Christmas tradition she would have to get used to.

_Dear Ron,_

_I know there are still a few months to go until Christmas but I saw these tickets and I couldn't resist buying them for you. The match is on the last day of our winter holiday, so you should get all your packing done before then so you, me, and Harry can all go. I do hope you are enjoying yourself and that you and Harry are staying out of trouble—I'm sure Harry will have gotten involved in something ridiculous between now and the time this card arrives. Anyway, I hope you are having a marvelous break, and I can't wait until the match! Tell everyone hello, and have a very happy Christmas!_

_All my love,_

_Hermione

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_Through the years we all will be together, if the Fates allow_

_Hang a shining star upon the highest bough_

_And have yourself a merry little Christmas now_

_-_Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, as sung by Robert Goulet

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Did you notice the irony with t he song and everything? haha. I find it rather pathetic that I have to point out irony in my own stories for fear that no reader would understand it without my help. God, I've lost my touch. Anyways, I hope you all have a very restful and happy Christmas, and a wonderful break!!

Lots of love,

Cara


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